


Open House

by greenhousestuck (whereismygarden)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, non-sburb AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/greenhousestuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider takes his little bro to open house at his new school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open House

                The school’s even more impressive than it looked on the website, which is a surprise. It’s usually the other way around: shit talked up so much you’re disappointed when it comes time to actually _see_ it. But this is the real deal: fucking stone pillars at the front as you drive past, looking for the driveway (it’s tucked into a stand of low-hanging, carefully trimmed trees), a green lawn without a single weed, and a shiny flagpole flying the Empress’s flag.

                Even places like this have to have parking lots, and even plantings of grass and water-hungry skinny trees can’t disguise the fact that this is a plain of asphalt dedicated to the housing of ugly metal machines. It makes you feel better, as you pull your junky gold-orange Civic (1998, original clutch) into a slot between a sleek blue sports car and a black SUV that looks only a few steps away from a military vehicle.

                Dave hops out of the back, and you grab the little dude’s arm, give him a thorough patting-down. Sure enough, he’s got some little throwing stars (some of his earliest ones, in the gear shape he likes) secreted in his back pockets. You toss them into the backseat. He really can’t do this, but it’d serve you right if he snuck them in: he’s only ten, and can’t get much over on you yet.

                “This is a huge fucking deal, man. No violence. Minimal irony.” You take his sunglasses as well, and put yours atop your head. It’s messing up your ‘do a bit, but worse things have happened.

                You trek across the parking lot, and swallow as you approach the propped-open doors. Fuck, this place is so not your scene. You’re a goddamn ninja programmer: you kick ass with a sword and make puppets and write sick code. You don’t walk into places with marble floors and periwinkles planted in rainbows along the sidewalk.

                You probably should’ve worn something besides your white t-shirt, but there’s a certain amount of integrity to be maintained, even when this is for Dave, not you. He looks kind of vulnerable without his glasses, but much more pleasant, if you were an elementary school teacher. Anyway, you’ve still got pressed black trousers, and even if you feel odd without your sword, they’d take it away from you at the door.

                This night is just for the fifth grade, so the halls are crowded with kids Dave’s age and their guardians. Hardly any humans: as you knew, rich as fuck, marketed towards business moguls and politicians for their kids.

                But Alternia is the place to go for music, for _everything_ , and you’re taking a perverse and mostly ironic pleasure in the raised eyebrows and sidelong glances. Dave deserves this place, and you end up queued in line in front of his classroom, clutching the forms and supply lists—that’ll be fucking great, those purchases—behind a tall troll woman and her daughter. Er, her kid. You don’t really understand troll lineage. You don’t even have any _human_ lineage to compare to, you’re at a tactical fucking disadvantage here.

                The woman’s in stiff, heavy fabric, a formal black silk dress with green edging. The girl shuffling her feet next to her couldn’t look more different: she’s in a red skirt with clumsy buttons and a t-shirt, and she’s fiddling with a tube of green lipstick. Her guardian takes it away and hands her a handkerchief, retrieved from somewhere in her dress.

                “You’re too little for that. Off, now.” The girl sulks a little, wiping it off her lips with ill grace and partial success. They’re a sort of green-streaked black now.

                You kind of want Dave to engage with her, if she’s going to be in his class, but you can’t force him if you can’t say anything to the adult she’s with. You want to put your sunglasses on, but simply fold your arms and people-watch instead.

                You can see another human ahead, dark brown skin standing out against grey. This guy is traditional dad material: fedora on his head, sensible businessman clothing, the faintest trace of shaving cream on the side of his jaw, and unless you’re mistaken, a fucking pipe sticking out of his back pocket. His kid has thick glasses and a goofy look. Right behind them is a troll in a yellow and black uniform that you know means naval forces, with two kids: one with double horns like him and the other with long ones that look familiar and ridiculously long hair. The teacher is a troll woman with green mottling at her hands and a sweet-looking smile, even as she’s talking to the coldest-looking woman you’ve ever seen.

                Lady has a missing eye and a nasty sneer on her lips, and keeps casting cold glances at her daughter, who keeps straightening up under her scrutiny and trying to mimic her look. God knows you’re used to Dave trying to imitate you, but fuck if this isn’t a little sad. Girl keeps giving harsh glances around the room to her future peers, and you glance at Dave, at the double-horned troll clutching his dad’s hand ahead. They look like kids: this girl doesn’t.

                You resolve to stop judging these damn ten year olds at first glance and wonder if you should try talking to whoever gets in line behind you. You’re glad when it’s a human: maybe that’s racist, but you grew up with humans and the trolls who didn’t fit in. Being in high society isn’t easy for you. Even if this dude looks pretty fucking classy: an older dude, with a short grey mustache and beard, a tan outdoorsman’s outfit, and an empty holster at his side.

                “Dirk Strider,” you say, and hold your hand out. He grips it firmly, shakes, and introduces himself as Jake English, explorer, and nudges his granddaughter forward.

                “This is Jade,” he says. She lifts a hesitant, but friendly, hand. Dave wavers between holding his hand out and nodding.

                “I’m Dave,” he says. “Dave Strider.”

                Jade walks forward and taps the little troll girl on the shoulder, and the three of them start up a conversation, as Jade pulls something from her khaki pocket to show them. The mother turns around and gives you two a very formal smile, but Jake English sets her at ease—dude’s got the magic touch—and starts regaling you with tales about Africa and South Asia.

                He’s in the middle of telling you about how he traced his bloodline back to somewhere in Chad, near a lake—geography isn’t your strong point but you don’t really wanna admit it, especially to this adventurer dude—when you realize it’s your time to introduce Dave to the teacher.

                She shakes Dave’s hand and gives a gentle smile.

                “Pleased to meet you,” she says, and sounds like she means it. “I’m Calliope Umbra, your teacher.” Dave nods, a little intimidated. He can’t take his eyes off her flecked hands. She notices and smiles again. “Just some scars.” She shakes your hand, too, and you’ll never get used to how trolls are a little chillier than humans.

                She tells Dave about the music teacher, and you have to give her some grudging respect. She’s gone ahead and read her students’ files or whatever they had. Formal education’s not your thing. He eats it up though, perking up when she tells him he can use their labs to compose. Your computer with its cruddy pirated programs isn’t shit compared to the glossy Crocker machines they’ve no doubt got here, all with the newest software. The little dude’s going to do well, though, and he drifts over to where some of the other kids have gathered around a display of drawings on the back wall, jostling for place against a lanky kid in sweatpants and chalky fingers.

                Miss Umbra gives you some more papers, syllabi and other shit, and you tuck it in with the other stuff. The classroom is nice: a few white and red computers in the back, cubbies with shiny textbooks, and a whole counter with science type shit: beakers and flasks and terrariums and potted plants. The bulletin boards are covered in children’s projects, with one set aside with each kid’s name on a little cut-out sun or moon. Dave’s got a moon, right next to a sun with _Vriska_ and a moon with _Rose._ Much better than the blank, graffiti-ed walls of his old school, though he won’t learn as many curses here.

                You let Dave chill with his new friends for a few minutes: four humans and twelve trolls. Not like the chaotic mess of thirty little humans at his old school, with one harried teacher to corral them.

                You’re absolutely sure this is a good place for him: you have a few slightly shady jobs coming up, but this Noir dude seems pretty on the level, and if you gotta get your hands dirty to keep your little bro in this place, you’re pretty much ready to swim through shit.

**Author's Note:**

> My first homestuck fic ever! Will probably make this a series.


End file.
